


The Color of Your Soul

by WaitingForMy



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Cemetery, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Short not sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 10:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: Jack visits the cemetery every Sunday morning, and Davey won’t let him go alone.





	The Color of Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> My cat wouldn’t let me sleep, so I took it out on Jack and Davey.
> 
> The title is from the song Through the Ghost by Shinedown.
> 
> Enjoy???

Jack froze at the gate to the cemetery, like he always did, staring blankly at the headstones in the damp grass as his breathing quickened and his fists clenched at his sides. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Davey placed a hand on his shoulder. “You always do.”

This, you see, was a routine. Davey has grown quite accustomed to it. On Sunday mornings, while mist still hung low in the air, before folks started filling the pews of the church down the street, Jack Kelly walked to the cemetery. The first few times, Crutchie came with him, but these days it was just Jack and Davey. Jack froze at the gate. Davey coaxed him through. Jack tread lightly between rows of polished stones and concrete crosses, taking slow, careful steps, perhaps trying not to disturb the dead, or perhaps taking as long as he could to steel himself before reaching the one—the one he dreaded the most, and yet the one to which he came every Sunday, oh so faithfully. He brought a single flower. Davey knew he couldn’t afford more. Hell, he shouldn’t have been spending money on flowers at all, even a single one a week, but who was Davey to judge what he did or how he grieved?

Jack’s pace slowed even more as he neared his destination, coming to a complete stop a few rows down. From that angle, he couldn’t read the headstone. If he couldn’t read the headstone, he didn’t have to deal with what it said. Davey walked ahead of him in hopes that he would follow. He did.

Jack squared up to the grave, standing as far back as he could without tripping over another stone.

“You can do this, Jack,” Davey whispered, rubbing his back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Jack let out a shaky breath, nodded, and stepped up to the grave. He knelt down, placing his hat in his lap, letting the dew soak into the fabric that covered his knees. Hanging his head, he placed the flower in front of the headstone. Davey knelt behind him and leaned his forehead on Jack’s upper back. He needed the closeness. God knew Jack did, too.

Jack’s shoulders began to shake, and his voice shattered into a million pieces. “Davey, I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing, love.”

Davey crawled around to Jack’s side as Jack crumbled, his beautiful face twisting in agony as he sobbed his heart out into the grass.

Davey leaned down and tried to catch his eye. “Jackie, look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Come on—please?”

Jack heaved in a breath. “Davey—”

“I’m here.” Davey grabbed his shoulder. “I’m right here.”

“I  _miss_ you.”

Davey squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Jack’s shoulder as his own tears began to fall. “I know, love. I know.”

Jack reached out and ran his fingertips over the letters etched into the simple headstone. They spelled David Jacobs.

“I’m right here,” Davey whimpered, clinging to Jack like a drowning man clings to a line, “I promise.”

Unaware, Jack fiddled with his hat in his lap. “I ain’t seen Les in a while,” he said. “I think he’s doing okay. He don’t really wanna see me no more.”

Les came by on Thursday nights with their parents.

“Crutchie misses you,” Jack went on. “All the guys miss you. We all miss you a whole lot.”

God, did Davey miss them, too.

“I still draws you sometimes, you know? Don’t wanna forget what your face looks like.” Jack made a noise that was sort of like a laugh. “‘Course I threw a load a’ blue paint at a canvas the other day when I was pissed, an’ that reminded me a’ you, too.

“Medda used to say blue was the color of my soul. Truth is, I was just sad all the time and she wanted to make me feel better about it.” Jack looked up. “I thinks blue’s the color a’ your soul, too, Davey—not ‘cause you’s sad, though. No, you’s blue like the sky and the ocean, all big and beautiful.

“Maybe that’s the secret, huh? Soulmates and all that.” He let out a broken sob. “You’s just gotta find someone who’s your same color.”

More tears streaked down Jack’s reddened cheeks as he reached out to touch Davey’s name again. He sucked in a breath and exhaled, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Davey whispered into his skin, hoping that, if he couldn’t hear it, maybe he could feel it.

Jack stood up then, and Davey followed suit, trailing along as Jack walked swiftly back to the gate, wishing he could just hold his hand, just be together again.

Jack never hesitated at the gate on the way out the way he always did on the way in, but this day, he did. He turned around, and for the briefest moment, he and Davey made eye contact for the first time in months. Jack’s gaze tore through Davey like a knife, reviving him and destroying him all at once. Then, Jack’s eyes refocused on something behind him.

“See you next Sunday, Davey.”

Davey froze at the gate to the cemetery, like he always did, staring blankly at Jack as he walked away, unable to leave. “See you next Sunday, Jack.”

All he could do was wait.


End file.
